


Blue Roses

by NotEvenCloseToStraight



Series: Good Omens [5]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, And I apologize for nothing, And people who don't take care of them, Azira's Bookshop, Crowley yells at plants, Demon!Crowley, Falling In Love, First Dates, First Meetings, Flirting, Flowers, Fluff and Humor, Human!Azira, I can't write anything but Fluff, M/M, Shyness, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Sweet, going out to dinner, ineffable husbands, unbearable softness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-31 00:54:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19415098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotEvenCloseToStraight/pseuds/NotEvenCloseToStraight
Summary: Hell’s Bells Botanicals was the most successful flower shop in all of London and in no way could that success be attributed to excellent customer service or the owner being the sort of chap who was friends with everyone.In fact, Hell’s Bells Botanicals was the most successful flower shop in all of London DESPITE having the worst customer service imaginable and an owner that obviously enjoyed making every moment in his shop as unpleasant as possible.Anthony J Crowley was surly and ill mannered, impatient with potential customers and downright aggravating with repeat customers, and underwent transactions as if it irked him to his very soul to sell the plants he raised.Hell’s Bells Botanicals was the best, its owner quite literally the worst, and seeing as how Crowley had been around since the dawn of time and had seen any and everything the world had to offer, he didn’t see anything about his attitude changing anytime soon.But then the empty bookshop across the way was purchased by a blonde man in an old fashioned sort of suit jacket, and life as Crowley knew it changed quite a bit.





	Blue Roses

**Author's Note:**

> The obligatory Flower Shop AU for these Ineffable Dorks, ft. entirely smitten and dramatic demon!Crowley and adorable in every way human!Azira. 
> 
> (A “hells bell” is another name for the ‘Devil’s Breath’ flower but also of course, a song by AC/DC, who I think Crowley would have thoroughly enjoyed) 
> 
> Also, idk how this got so long?? I finally forced myself to stop??

~~~~Hell’s Bells Botanicals was the most successful flower shop in all of London and in no way could that success be attributed to excellent customer service or the owner being the sort of chap who was friends with everyone.

In fact, Hell’s Bells Botanicals was the most successful flower shop in all of London _despite_ having the worst customer service imaginable and an owner that obviously enjoyed making every moment in his shop as unpleasant as possible. 

Anthony J Crowley was surly and ill mannered, impatient with potential customers and downright aggravating with repeat customers, and underwent transactions as if it irked him to his very _soul_ to sell the plants he raised. 

Most times he was hiding away in the green leaves and staring balefully from behind black sunglasses when a customer tried to talk to him, other times he sprawled gracelessly across the counter and smirked at the shock over his sheer unprofessional-ism. 

He was _awful_ – sarcastic and churlish and flippant to the point of disrespect, but his plants were so lush, his flowers so lovely, the succulents beautiful in a nearly unearthly way, that even the Queen herself preferred his arrangements over any others. 

Gardening magazines came to interview him, asking about his methods and his secrets, looking for tips and tricks so regular people at home could hope to have gardens as wonderful as the one Crowley boasted in the greenhouse out back. 

All inquiries were answered with a smile bordering on insolent, a flash of too sharp teeth, and a snarky, “I’ve had six thousand years to perfect my gardening, why on Earth would I give my secrets away to you people?” 

Hell’s Bells Botanicals was the best, its owner quite literally the worst, and seeing as how Crowley had been around since the dawn of time and had seen any and everything the world had to offer, he didn’t see anything changing anytime soon. 

But then the empty bookshop across the way was purchased by a blonde man in an old fashioned sort of suit jacket, and life as Crowley knew it changed quite a bit.

*********************

“What on earth did you do to this plant?” Crowley levelled his fiercest frown at the twenty-something boy across the counter, holding up one brittle, spotted leaf of what had been a gloriously full aloe plant just a week before. “Did you torture it?” 

“Of course not!” he sputtered, drawing himself up to rather un impressive height of just about five feet. “I watered it just like I water all my plants! Left it in the sun to give it a bit of perk! If you ask me, you sold me a dying plant and that’s why– _eep_!”

He shut up abruptly when Crowley’s frown turned into an outright glare. “What I meant was–” 

“This aloe was perfect when I sssold it to you!” Crowley announced and the poor boy had the distinct feeling of being threatened by a _snake_. “How much did you water it?” 

“…every day?” 

“Every day?” he shouted. “You killed the poor thing! Drowned it like a pile of ratsss! Look at it!” 

“I–I–” 

“My god–” the word sounded strangled as if it physically pained the shop keep to say it. “–Who on earth kills a cactus? A _cactus_!” 

“Anyway.” the young man said timidly. “I was hoping you’d give me another one? Quite liked it sitting there in my window and–” 

“Here.” Crowley pulled a jar of aloe gel from…somewhere… and smacked it into the boy’s hand. “This is all the aloe you get to have. No more plants for you.” 

“But–” 

“No more plants for you!” 

The boy left with his jar of aloe, shuffling out the door feeling inexplicably guilty for having failed at taking care of his plant, and inside the shop Crowley carried the wilting thing back to the greenhouse. 

“Humans.” he snorted, tossing away his sunglasses to squint closer at the poor thing. “Six thousand years on this bloody rock and they still haven’t figured out how to take care of a plant. Suppose I shouldn’t be all that shocked considering they’ve barely figured out to take care of themsel–” 

“Crowley?” A voice from the front of the shop and Crowley straightened with a jerk, flailing for his sunglasses to cover his rather other worldly eyes. “Crowley my dear, are you in today?” 

_Oh_. Oh there was exactly one human in this city, on this isle, maybe even on the _entire_ planet that made Crowley not want to breathe unholy fire and it would only be–

“Azira.” Crowley purred the name, baring his teeth in his friendliest smile and taking care to hide the sharper bits. “How are you today?” 

“As well as always I suppose.” Azira was all things good cheer, an always ready smile topped with sparkling eyes and curls as bouncy as his always ready to burst laugh and Crowley absolutely _adored_ him. “Back in your greenhouse, were you?” 

“Coaxing life back into an aloe plant.” Crowley jumped up onto the counter just because he rather liked it when the bookshop owner had to look up at him from beneath damnably– _blessedly_ – thick eyelashes. “Are you here for your flowers again?” 

“It _is_ the seventh.” Azira grinned and Crowley had to keep his wings from rustling in response, checking over his shoulder just in case he’d lost his hold on them and they were waving black and feathered above his head. “I’m here for the usual amount of blooms. You know, I’ve had so many compliments on those flowers, it’s brilliant how they manage to hold their color a month at a time.” 

“I take special care to be sure they do.” Crowley answered, thinking back to the more than stern talking to he’d given the last round of flowers to be sure they stayed lovely and fresh for exactly a month. “Dunno why it is, flowers just seem to respond to me.” 

“I’d say you have an angel’s touch.” Azira complimented, positively pink cheeked with it all and Crowley bit back a very _un_ angelic growl at the innocent flirting. “I think something in shades of yellow this time, for the summer months?” 

“I have just the thing.” He promised and jumped off the counter to head for the back room, a little extra swing in his already swaggering walk since he’d caught Azira watching more than once. “Do you like blue, Azira?” 

“Yes, it’s quite lovely!” Azira called. “If you had a few pieces to put in with the yellow?” 

“I’ll check and see.” Crowley called back from behind the door and then looked over at a pile of pink sweet peas and ordered quietly, “You are _blue_ , aren’t you? At least three different shades so hop to it.” 

And as an afterthought as he wrapped up a bouquet of yellow dahlias– “Make it match the color of Azira’s eyes. Get on it now.” 

The sweet peas did exactly what someone would expect pink flowers to do–meaning they did absolutely nothing– until Crowley pointed a finger at them and growled, “I said hop. to. it.” 

In a puff of pollen that was as close to talking back as as flower could come, the sweet peas shaded into a rich navy blue, a summer sky blue and then a shade that perfectly matched Azira’s eyes that Crowley mentally dubbed angel blue. 

“Oh, Crowley they are perfect!” Azira beamed when Crowley returned with arms full of yellow dahlias and blue sweet peas. “Thank you so much! I’m so glad your flowers live so long you know, otherwise I’d be in here ever few weeks buying more and that would put a damper in my pocketbook, wouldn’t it?” 

“Oh, you’d come in here _more_ if the flowers didn’t live so long?” Crowley queried. “How interesting.” 

“Of course I would.” Azira buried his nose in the flowers and made a happy noise at the sweet scent. “You’re my favorite place on the block, you know. I don’t see why everyone else thinks you’re terrible, you’ve never said a cross word to me at all.” 

“Yes.” Crowley had to work hard to keep the hiss from his voice and the smirk from his face. “Yes, I don’t see why they think I’m terrible either. I’ll see next month, then?” 

“Of course.” Azira lay down the usual amount of money and turned to leave. “Good day, Crowley!” 

“You will grow for two weeks and two weeks only.” Crowley snarled at the departing flower. “Thirteen days and on the fourteenth if you aren’t wilting, so help me someone I will come over and cut you myself!” 

If Azira felt the dahlias trembling as he arranged them into a vase by the window, he didn’t think anything of it, just gave them fresh water and a soothing pat on the leaves. “There there, lovelies. Be fresh and sweet for me and brighten up my shop for a while, won’t you?” 

He went to work shelving books, humming quietly and letting his thoughts wander back to the oddly good looking flower shop owner who had absolutely no reason to walk quite so provocatively or to wear pants quite that tight or to smile quite so _knowingly_. 

And when Azira’s thoughts wandered too far down _that_ particular path, he set himself to reorganizing the old encyclopedias. 

Nothing remotely romantic about the Encyclopedia Britannica. 

Nothing at all. 

*****************

Exactly fourteen days later, a sheepish Azira stood in Crowley’s shop and waited with red cheeks for the man to stop practically howling in rage at someone having returned an apple tree that had been so thoroughly stripped of its bark it barely resembled a tree at all any more.

“Now, didn’t I tell you to get a bit of fence to put around it? Keep the deer away?” 

“Well yes, but–” 

“And you didn’t, so it got chomped to within an inch of its life?” 

“I suppose so–” 

“And you have the absolute nerve, the unmitigated _gall_ to walk in here and to my face–” Crowley pointed at his sunglasses. “–and demand a refund because the tree didn’t survive? What a great pair of clangin’ brass balls _you’ve_ got, huh?” 

“I–I–” 

“GET OUT!” 

The woman scuttled from the shop muttering something about ‘lousy prick, would piss off the pope’ and ‘absolutely do not have brass balls, how dare he?’ as she went.

“You’re acting as if she maliciously murdered the poor thing.” Azira tsked, stepping up to the counter and touching the sad looking tree. “Just some careless on her part, sure to be forgiven don’t you think?” 

“I am not in the business of forgiving.” Crowley snarled. “Especially not when people are lazy and careless and hurt innocent–” he looked up to see Azira’s lovely eyes very wide. “–um, innocent things. Did you need something, Azira? It hasn’t been a month already, has it?” 

“Oh no, no it hasn’t been a month.” Azira whispered something encouraging to the tree and then looked up with an embarrassed sort of smile. “On the subject of plants not lasting as long as we hoped, I’m afraid to tell you my flowers have already withered. Don’t know if I watered them too much or forgot to add a little plant food, but I’m here for more.” 

He rocked back on his heels, tugging at his coat in a nervous sort of gesture. “You aren’t going to shout at me and accuse me of having brass nethers are you?” 

“I would never.” Crowley said solemnly, trying his very hardest not to laugh at how contrite Azira looked. “It’s no fault of your own that cut flowers don’t last long, it might be my snipping the stems at the wrong angle or something along those lines. I certainly won’t be shouting at you for that.” 

“Oh thank heavens.” Azira’s smile stretched from ear to ear. “Anyway, I’m here to purchase more? In the same blue and yellow if you have it.” 

“I’m sure I can make it happen.” Crowley cocked his head, looked Azira over curiously. “I don’t suppose I could make this up to you? No charge for the flowers since its most likely my fault and if you were amenable…” six thousand years on Earth and Crowley had never been more nervous than he was now. “…could I tempt you to dinner? The Ritz?” 

“Oh dinner would be—.” Azira looked adorably flustered, flushed to the tip of his ears and playing with buttons of his vest. “The Ritz seems too fancy, though? And of course I’ll pay for more flowers, that isn’t an issue.” 

“That isn’t a _no_ to dinner, then?” Crowley planted both hands on the counter and leaned right over into Azira’s space, waggling his eyebrows above his glasses. “Just that the Ritz seems too fancy. Do you have another spot in mind?” 

“Well, I–” Azira couldn’t seem to stop smiling. “If you insist, I do love a yummy dinner.” 

“What’sss your favorite food, Azira?” Crowley let his ‘ss’ roll lazy at the end of the word, thrilled by the way Azira was so clearly happy about the invitation. “I’ll take you out tonight?” 

“….I’m fond of seafood.” 

“Excellent.” Crowley hated seafood but that didn’t matter at the moment. “I’ll bring your new flowers by when I pick you up.” 

“Oh.” Azira looked as pleased as he’d ever been, eyes dropping shyly to the floor before meeting Crowley’s again. “Thank you.” 

********************

Crowley had tired of dating or courting or anything even resembling those ridiculous customs almost a hundred years prior, giving up the arduous _chase_ to settle for the occasional tumble with whichever pretty person caught his eyes. 

He didn’t really have a sex drive, not in the traditional sense anyway, but it was fun to do all that sort of thing. Sex involved pleasure and lust and coveting and jealousy and half a dozen other things he had every right to indulge in seeing as how he was fallen and all. 

Not that _fallen_ really meant anything anymore. Angels themselves roamed around indulging in excess in the form of food or possessions, claiming to be in love and then moving from partner to partner and deciding that _any_ sort of love was blessed love. Demons kept to mainly small time mischief and angels were usually there to thwart them, keeping the balance as to not upset any of the higher powers that were, and things were generally calm. 

In fact, if it weren’t for the plants he _supernaturally_ threatened into flourishing and the yellow and black eyes he hid behind the sunglasses, Crowley would feel human most days. 

But tonight as he crossed the street to Azira’s bookstore clutching an over large bouquet of yellow and blue roses, Crowley was distinctly aware of the sunglasses over his eyes, the weight of his hidden wings on his back and the way his movements were just a hint too smooth to be natural. 

Perhaps Azira would be too smitten to notice. 

_Oh_ he hoped so. 

“Crowley!” Azira looked simply cherubic in a smart white suit and matching hat, burying his face in the roses and peeking up at Crowley with a shy sort of smile. “Roses! You shouldn’t have!” 

“I absolutely should have.” Crowley replied flatly, as if his heart wasn’t practically pounding from his chest. _Honestly_ a mortal had no business looking so sweet. “Do you like the blue?” 

“I love it!” Azira dropped the blooms into a waiting vase. “I thought blue roses were all genetically engineered, though? You don’t strike me as the type to use altered flowers?” 

“Ah. These are not genetically engineered. They are entirely natural. My secret, of course. That’s why the Queen loves them so.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. The roses weren’t genetically engineered at all. An hour previous they had been lovely and pink and Crowley had glared with every shred of his fury until the petals had dipped a glorious shade of midnight blue that contrasted wonderfully with the yellow. 

“I love it.” Azira said again, shrugging into his jacket. “Shall we away, then?” 

“Shall we?” Crowley offered his arm to the blond. “Dinner awaits.” 

******************

Dinner with Azira was perfect. The man was charming and sweet and hilarious in a well restrained sort of way, muffling his laughter into a napkin and sipping at his wine, eating each piece of sushi with the sort of joy Crowley had given up on feeling _centuries_ ago. 

They talked about Shakespeare, about Hamlet and about the hilarity of how certain plays had been misconstrued to mean something entirely different than the Bard had originally intended. 

They chatted about their favorite music, Azira declaring anything written after the forties to be ‘be bop’ and terrible while Crowley waxed almost embarrassingly poetic about the raw _truth_ in the lyrics of rock and roll, the way heartbreak and grief came through so clearly. 

“Tell me how you came to be in the flower business.” Azira encouraged over a shared piece of cake called ‘Better than Sex’. “You’re so good at cultivating your plants, does it run in your family?” 

“My earliest memories are in a garden.” Crowley said truthfully, and with no small amount of mirth. “I’m particularly partial to apple trees, if I’m being quite honest.” 

“Which is why you frightened that poor woman half to death for letting hers be stripped so thoroughly?” 

“Exactly.” 

On the way back to their street Crowley asked, “Do you sell many books? I feel as if you just sort of hoard them, I never see anyone leaving with a package.” 

“Oh.” Azira tipped his head back and smiled up at a flowering tree as they passed underneath. “I’m afraid I purchased the book shop simply so I could be surrounded by books. I have no intention of selling any ever. Too fond of them.” 

Crowley burst into surprised laughter. “Honestly? You bought a book shop so you had a place to put all your books?” 

“Well, I live above it as well.” Azira huffed. “It’s more that I bought a place to live that happened to have extra bookshelves.” 

“Of course you did, angel.” Crowley’s smile was more fond than he meant it to be, the pet name slipping out before he noticed. They’d known each other nearly a year now, and it had been only the second visit when Azira had been framed in the window with sunlight filtering through his hair, ringed in a perfect halo and Crowley had– embarrassingly enough– shattered a planter pot on the floor he’d been so stunned at the thought of Azira being an _actual_ angel. 

He wasn’t an angel of course, and Crowley figured that out by the end of the day, but for a moment the man had been so stunning, so ethereal, so perfectly poised as if to take flight that _angel_ had stuck firmly in Crowley’s mind–

–and now it had dropped into open conversation and it had been a long time since Crowley had been so flustered he full on reverted to snake form, but he could _feel_ the scales slipping up his back, could feel his knees turn to jello and his eyes jerked towards an alley as they passed, wondering if it were an appropriate place to slither off to and–

“–angel, is it?” Azira bumped Crowley’s shoulder teasingly. “It’s the blond hair, isn’t it? I’ve been told I look terribly cherubic. Baby faced, even.” 

“You’re lovely.” That hadn’t been meant to slip out either, but _angel_ had gone over so well Crowley figured a compliment couldn’t hurt. “And cherubic doesn’t have to mean baby faced, all angels are fierce in their own right.” 

“Well then, I suppose I won’t take any offense.” Azira paused in front of his bookshop. “Could I invite you up for a drink?” 

_Temptation_ , thick and familiar and well– _tempting_ , even if the drink was probably offered with nothing more than friendship in mind. 

“I have to be up early with the plants.” Crowley said instead and Azira nodded in understanding. “Tonight was fun though.” it was easy to miracle a flower behind Azira’s back and offer it up with a smile that stretched to a grin when Azira took it with a pleased little gasp. “We should do it again. Tomorrow?” 

“Dinner _tomorrow_?” 

“If you’d like.” 

“Oh.” Pink cheeks, and Crowley’s wings rustled in anticipation. “I’d like that. Very much.” 

*****************

Dinner the next night went just as well as it had the first time around, and dinner the night after that was wonderful as well. 

Then there were afternoons in the park, Crowley lounging on a blanket while Azira read poetry. Breakfasts of delicate crepes and rich coffee eaten on the rooftop cafe of fancy hotels. Music by the river, Azira insisting he didn’t dance and Crowley dragging him up onto the grass to sway the beat anyway. 

For an entire month they met up every day for one reason or another, and every time Crowley came with flowers until the bookshop was nearly over flowing. He miracled blooms out of thin air to tuck into blonde hair, pressed them between the pages of books for Azira to find later, shut down the shop for no reason at all than to stroll down the street and hand over a carnation simply because he could. 

Six thousand years and Crowley had never met anyone he’d wanted to see three–four–five days in a row but after a month of casual get togethers and romantic dates and long walks in the moonlight, Crowley had to admit that he was perhaps _more_ than smitten with the book shop owner.

And then he called round for dinner on Saturday and Azira was ‘terribly sorry, but I’ve already made plans’ and stepped out with a tall man in a grey suit, dark hair and dark eyes and a booming sort of voice Crowley could hear even from down the street. 

The next morning someone came by to pick up a few plants Her Majesty had ordered, and everything in Hell’s Bells Botanicals was withering away in their pots, leaves spotted and flowers wilted, vines limp and succulents dehydrated and a crankier than usual owner fallen dramatically onto the counter top, legs splayed and arms over his eyes, moaning loudly as if the very world were ending. 

“Uh, Mr. Crowley, sir.” the customer asked timidly. “I’m here for the plants, the ones for Buckingham?” 

“Fuck. Off.” Crowley muttered. “Right this moment or I’ll breathe hell fire and singe that stupid hairstyle right off your Botoxed forehead.”

“I–” the customer considered his options, thought about how much he liked his hair and wisely decided not to press the issue, letting himself out the front door, leaving the volatile owner to wallow in a black mood. 

It was lunch time before the bell rang again and this time a cheerful, “Crowley, my dear?” had the demon falling right off the counter and scrambling to right himself, affecting as cool and casual a posture as he could in an attempt to not let Azira know exactly how long he’d been sulking. 

“Ah. Azira.” Crowley snapped his fingers and growled something the human didn’t catch and every plant in the shop straightened and tried to green up again. “How are you?’ 

“Well enough, I suppose.” Azira looked extra cheerful today and it grated on Crowley’s nerves. “I was hoping you could sell me a potted plant today? I love the flowers, but I’d like to try my hand at actually growing something. Seeing as how you live so close, you could come over and help me water it and things, right?” 

“Azira, you wound me. You only want me for my flowers?” Crowley’s hurt expression was only partly feigned. “And here I thought we were having so much fun with our dates! But then of course, you went out with someone else last night didn’t you?”

“Oh and about that as well.” Azira didn’t look guilty or embarrassed or even shy about it. “I’ve decided I’d much rather have dinner with you. I’m afraid Gabriel isn’t half as interesting as he thinks he is and I’m not exactly sure what his job is or where it takes him, but he’s only ever in London a few times a year and this was his first time visiting me at my new shop–” he waved his hand airily. 

“Anyway, I thought if you weren’t busy tonight, perhaps you’d come over? I could cook for you! I bought a lovely bottle of wine and we could listen to old records and maybe just sit together?” 

“Oooh sitting _together_.” Crowley didn’t mean to sound so snarky, or perhaps he did, but he was still a little irritated at being stood up– even if they hadn’t had an official date– for some one named _Gabriel_. He’d never met a Gabriel he liked and he was sure this fellow would be no different. “Moving awfully fast, aren’t we? Did you and your gentleman caller _sit together_ last night?” 

“If you’re going to act like _that_ , consider yourself uninvited.” Azira informed him with a sniff, and Crowley gaped at the human for a full minute. “I had every intention of kissing you tonight but if you’re going to be rude, maybe I won’t.” 

“You’d hold your kisses hostage!” Crowley was very nearly outraged at the thought. “Angel, how can you be so cruel!” 

“Well they’re my kisses to withhold.” Azira was nearly laughing and Crowley relaxed. “Bring me blue roses again and I’ll forgive your little fit. Don’t be so jealous, love. It’s a terrible color on you.” 

“All colors are good on me.” the vines behind Crowley’s head grew an inch or so when the censure left his voice. “And I’ll bring you blue roses.” 

“Leave the sunglasses here, maybe?” Azira asked hopefully. “We’ve known each other for a year and have been out for dates for weeks now and I’ve yet to even see your eyes.” 

“Ah.” Crowley hesitated. “My eyes are… well they aren’t entirely… you see the thing is–” 

“Tell me tonight.” Azira blew him a kiss that had no business making Crowley smile so big. “Come hungry, yes?” 

******************

“You weren’t _really_ jealous of Gabriel, were you?” Azira asked after a delicious dinner and custardy dessert and a bottle and most of another bottle of wine. “Not really, I mean.” 

“I suppose I wasss a little.” Crowley admitted, letting the wine roll rich around his tongue. “Stupid of me, really. We’ve been seeing each other for a month and I’ve been acting like we’ve been going together for years. Ugly thing, jealousy.” 

“Sort of flattering.” Azira said hesitantly. “In certain circumstances and in the right doses, maybe.” 

“Maybe.” Crowley plucked one of the blue roses he’d brought over off the side table and held it to his nose. “But I’m sorry all the same. For being obnoxious, I mean. Not for being jealous. Can’t help that, sort of comes with the territory.” 

“And what territory is that?” Azira asked, tucking himself into the corner of the couch Crowley hadn’t taken over with his long legged sprawl. “Hm?” 

“Oh you know.” Crowley was drunk and half past caring, ready to share his secrets with his angel just for the sake of saying it out loud. “Angels get to be all pure and patient. We are supposed to be jealous and ill tempered. I enjoy it for the most part, shouldn’t really complain but–” 

“Angels.” Azira repeated. “You mean wings and halos and all that?” 

“You… are not as surprised as you should be.” Crowley said slowly and Azira replied, “Yes well, I’m very drunk. Nothing’s very shocking right now. Besides, it people can believe in aliens and the earth being flat, it’s not much of a reach for me to believe in angels–”

“–and demons.” Crowley finished, and whipped off his glasses with a flourish, baring his snake eyes. “Not much of a reach at all.” 

“Look at that.” Azira’s eyes went comically wide. “My _goodness_. My goodness. My good–”

“Say something else besides that.” Crowley demanded, the rose crushing in his fingers as he clenched his fist anxiously. “And if you’re too upset about it all, I can make it so you don’t remember tomorrow, erase all of this last month if you want. We can go right back to you buying flowers from me once a–” 

“Hell’s Bells!” Azira blurted then, and Crowley frowned. 

“ _What_?” 

“Hell’s Bells!” he said again, clapping his hands as laughter bubbled up and over. “Oh god, a demon running a flower shop and calling it Hell’s Bells! Is it after the song or that awful flower or some sort of mix of the two?” 

“I–” Crowley narrowed his eyes. “A mix of the two, thought it would be clever.” 

“Very clever.” Azira toasted him and then refilled the glass. “More wine, my dear?” 

“You’re far too drunk to process what’s happening.” Crowley decided. “Which means there will be no kissing tonight either. I’ll go home and let you sober up and if you want to talk in the morning–” 

“Hell’s Bells.” Azira was still chuckling over it. “No wonder your plants grow so well. Put the fear of god into them, didn’t you? Or the fear of Satan? The fear of some higher power, right? Is _that_ why you have the best plants in all of London?” 

“You really are sloshed, aren’t you?” A long suffering sort of sigh because while Crowley _really_ had been looking forward to a kiss tonight, he was sort of relieved to have another chance to have this conversation sober. 

Announcing that he was less than mortal usually involved a lengthy explanation if the person bothered to stick around, at least a hundred mostly moronic and fairly invasive questions and seeing as how it had been over a hundred years since the last time Crowley had even attempted this sort of talk, he had to imagine now there would be hours and hours of research on the internet as well. 

He wasn’t looking forward to any of that, but at least if Azira was sober Crowley would have the chance to explain and properly gauge his–

“Did you magic up blue flowers for me because I love them?” Azira whispered and Crowley nodded. “And make sure my blooms lasted an entire month?” 

“…I did.” 

“And only two weeks this last time so you had an excuse to ask me for dinner?” 

“…yes?”

“Adorable.” Azira leaned back into the cushions and closed his eyes, a peaceful smile on his face. “Simply ador…demon making blue flowers…so sweet…” 

Crowley left him sleeping there on the couch, a blanket pulled up to his shoulders and wine put away. “Goodnight, angel.” he whispered, and pointed sternly at the blue roses. “Be beautiful for him, or so help me Satan I will pull your thorns off one by one, don’t think I wont.” 

The bookshop door closed behind the demon, and the blue roses quivered in terror. 

**********************

Morning dawned bright and early and Crowley came downstairs from his flat to open the shop only to find Azira already standing outside, tapping on the glass eagerly. 

“What are you doing here so early?” Crowley kept the closed sign on the door and ushered Azira in. “Are you feeling alright?” 

“Let me see.” Azira demanded, motioning to Crowley’s sunglasses. “I have to know I wasn’t dreaming.” 

“…alright.” The moment of truth, the moment where Crowley knew if Azira really was alright with all of it, or if he and his plants were going to be alone for another millenia. 

Azira gasped when he saw the yellow and black eyes, but then he let out a very undignified snort of laughter and asked, “So do the other demon’s think it’s funny or cheesy you call this place Hell’s Bells?” 

“I don’t make a habit of talking to the others.” Crowley set his glasses down slowly. “Got tired of them after a few thousand years. Are you _really_ alright with this?” 

“Gabriel’s not human.” Azira informed him then. “He refers to himself as a _celestial being_ and we met quite by accident almost ten years ago. He’s the one who got me most of my older books but there’s nothing romantic there, I can assure you. He’s pompous and arrogant and sort of an asshole, if I’m being honest. Anyway not half as fun as you are. Plus–” and here Azira looked hilariously offended. “–he makes fun of me for eating sushi and likes to brag that he doesn’t need to eat so he doesn’t bother. How that is bragging, I’ll never know, but we have drinks every few months or so and he usually brings me a new book.”

“The archangel Gabriel has drinks with you every few months.” Crowley repeated. “And you think he’s an asshole?” 

“Yes.” Azira nodded. “Quite. Anyway, I’m used to having a supernatural being hanging around, must be why I’m so comfortable around you.” 

“Being friends with an archangel is very different than having dinner with a demon.” he pointed out. “ _Very_ different.” 

“It’s certainly more fun.” Azira countered. “And you’re much more handsome than he is. Though knowing you’re not quite human sure explains why you walk _that_ way. All distracting and hip swinging?” 

“ _That_ hassss nothing to do with me being not quite human.” Crowley teased, and Azira turned bright red. “And I’d never make fun of you for eating sushi.” 

“I know you wouldn’t.” Azira took a hesitant step forward, then another even closer. “And I’d still like to kiss you, if that’s quite alright. Unless you don’t do that sort of thing with people like me–OH!” 

He startled when Crowley snatched him up tight and crushed a less than chaste kiss to his mouth, both arms wrapping around his waist, a tongue that felt maybe a _hint_ longer than normal playing at his lips, the demon practically glommed onto his body for several minutes until Azira had to pinch at his side and remind Crowley, “Some of us have to breathe, you know!”

But it was hard to be irritated about things like _losing oxygen_ when Crowley finally let him up for air and Azira noticed the vines climbing the walls, the flowers budding and then blooming one after another, and sunflowers turning to bask in the glow of their affection. 

And swirling in gentle circles above their heads, dozens and dozens of rose petals in different shades of blue, brushing over Azira’s cheek and landing in Crowley’s hair. 

“Oh my.” Azira’s eyes lit up. “Just lovely.” 

“Just lovely.” Crowley repeated, kissing him one more time. “ _Angel_.” 

*****************

Hell’s Bells Botanicals was the most successful flower shop in all of London and in no way could that success be attributed to excellent customer service or the owner being the sort of chap who was friends with everyone.

But lately things had changed at the shop just enough to encourage even more customers through the door. Now when Crowley took an irresponsible plant owner to task, the book shop owner from down the street was usually perched on the counter behind him, countering every harsh word with something encouraging and light hearted. 

The plants still trembled in fear of Crowley’s wrath, but they also shivered in delight as Azira came along behind his boyfriend and soothed them with gentle pats at their leaves and encouraging words to the flowers. 

When Crowley fussed and fumed and hissed through his words, Azira coaxed his wings into view and set about smoothing the ruffled feathers until Crowley wasn’t quite as fangy or scaley. 

And the next time Gabriel came to town, he was greeted at the door to the bookshop by one _very_ delighted demon who shoved a bouquet of black roses into his arms, flipped him off with no small amount of glee, and shut the door in his face. 

Azira laughed at least once a day over the name of the shop, changed his phone ringtone to ‘Hell’s Bells’ by AC/DC though he loathed the sound of it and accused Crowley of liking the terrible bebop just to be obnoxious. 

“I’d _never_ , angel.” Crowley swore, and then conjured up a blue rose to boop his love on the nose. “I might have helped them write the song though.” 

“Oh for heavens–” 

“– _hell’s_.” Crowley corrected. 

“–for _someone’s_ sake.” Azira finished and Crowley kissed him just because he could. 


End file.
